


350°

by Alastael



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cookies, Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-24
Updated: 2013-04-24
Packaged: 2017-12-09 08:52:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 465
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/772339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alastael/pseuds/Alastael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wee ficlet prompt: Dean and Cas baking cookies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	350°

There is at least a tablespoon of dough rolled between Dean's fingers, and when he sticks it into his mouth, Sam groans. 

"Dean, that's disgusting. Salmonella aside--"

"The odds of Dean contracting salmonella from the single egg in this recipe is remarkably low, Sam. I'd think you'd know that," Cas states, gaze never lifting from the sheet where he is painstakingly placing the perfect spheres of dough exactly two inches apart. Dean grins at his brother, reaching for a second ball. Cas slaps his hand away before he can get there.

"It's unsanitary," Sam's face scrunches in disgust as Dean shrugs and sticks his fingers in his mouth. 

Castiel pauses to study Dean's actions intently. The staring has gotten worse since he showed up at The Batcave and Dean decided he was staying, although Sam suspects that now their wordless interactions have an entirely new subtext. 

Dean nods at the cookie sheet, breaking Cas from his trance. "They don't have to be so... Perfect, you know." 

"I've never done this before, and I would prefer that they _are_ perfect, Dean." Cas stoops to push the pan into the oven, and it's Deans turn to stare.

If Sam noticed that Cas has started wearing Dean's clothes, he's never said anything, but if they are trying to be subtle about whatever it is that's happening between them, they are doing it wrong. He watches his brother's gaze travel the length of the angel's body, from shoulders, hunched as he stares into the oven, to hips, where Dean's jeans hang a little too loose. He shakes his head and looks back to the laptop screen.

"How long do they cook?" Cas is still staring through the glass pane in the oven door, watching as the dough begins to spread.

"Ten minutes," Dean mumbles around his fingers. "Give or take."

"If you keep consuming the dough, we won't be able to bake another batch." Cas frowns at him, standing. 

"I don't know if I can wait another forty years for that," His eyes roll as he reaches again into the mixing bowl, index and middle finger scraping dough and chocolate from the side. Cas catches his wrist again, but this time he pulls Dean's hand to his own mouth, lips closing around the mess at his fingertips and teeth scraping gently along the sensitive skin. As he begins to pull away, his tongue slides between Dean's fingers, lapping at the remnants of chocolate there. 

The blood has drained from Dean's face (presumably redirected _elsewhere_ ), and Cas releases him with a contented sound in the back of his throat. A grin pulls at the edges of his mouth, where Dean's gaze has fallen. 

"I'm beginning to understand your impatience."

Sam smirks behind the computer, not daring to look up. _Subtle._


End file.
